'I didn't do the shopping. Someone from the office did. A woman.' Keats gave Coop a hard, stern look in the rear-view mirror and added, 'I don't shop for clothes for guys.'
Coop laughed. 'Where you taking us?'
'Four Seasons.'
'How romantic.'
'Hotel offers us several security advantages. They cater to visiting diplomats, our bozo politicians and other types.'
Coop eased back, turning to her with a grin on his face, trying to break the sombre mood.
'Four Seasons,' he whispered. 'Ooo-la-la.'
Keats went up with her to her condo. The FBI's Evidence Response Team was there, making a mess of her rooms — moving furniture, rugs and all of her bureau drawers. Black fingerprint powder covered every surface. All the lights had been turned on and when she stepped inside her bedroom she found her bed torn apart, the mattress propped up against a wall and a guy wearing a particle mask and an FBI windbreaker spraying a Super Glue mist against the metal bed frame. Two young guys stood on her porch dusting her sliding glass door and she caught flashlight beams crisscrossing through the darkness, searching the postage-stamp-sized backyard she shared with the ground-floor tenants.
She didn't ask what else they had found; she'd get the details later from Sergey. She opened the folding doors to Beacon Hill's version of a walk-in closet: a small space of carefully crafted shelves designed to maximize every last inch of space. She threw clothes into a suitcase, about to close the doors when she saw the bulky white shopping bag sitting on the top shelf. She hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the bag and stuffed it inside her suitcase.
A quick trip to the bathroom to grab her toiletries and then she was hauling her suitcase down the winding staircase. No sign of her neighbours. She wondered if the feds had evacuated the building as a precaution.
Back to the car and half an hour later it stopped.
When her door opened again, she saw a man dressed in what looked like a military uniform — a cream- coloured commander's hat, dark navy-blue trousers and a matching long overcoat with gold bars on the sleeves and above the breast pocket. He stood under a roof heater a few feet away from a pair of gold-plated doors, the entrance of the Four Seasons Hotel.
The doorman grinned and welcomed them to the Four Seasons. Either the man hadn't noticed the earpieces worn by the Secret Service agents or he was simply used to seeing such things, as the hotel, she knew, hosted a wide variety of foreign dignitaries and rich Middle Eastern types who often travelled with bodyguards.
Keats didn't bother with the check-in and escorted them through a regal lobby full of warm, earth-tone colours — the brown and cream rug, the blond wood panelling and chairs and sofas arranged around pillar-type stones holding pots bursting with freshly cut flowers. She could see why people held lavish weddings here, why businesses held conferences meant to impress their staff and clients. The area gave off a distinctly powerful but elegant vibe.
They took the elevator to the top floor. She followed Keats and the other agent, who'd been assigned to Coop, down a quiet, carpeted hall. A moment later Keats dropped her suitcase in front of a small alcove separate from the rest of the rooms. Darby saw the bronze-plated sign mounted on the wall next to the door: GARDEN SUITE.
'I'll be posted outside your room,' Keats said. 'For obvious reasons, we prefer that you dine in. We'll come for you at eleven, so take the time to unwind, sleep, whatever.'
Coop picked up her suitcase. Darby remained in the hallway for a moment.
She rubbed a hand across the back of her neck. 'If for some reason you need to come in and get us, could you do me a favour and, uh, you know…'
'Knock?'
'Yes. Knock.'
'Of course. A gentleman such as myself always knocks first, then waits.'
'I'd appreciate that, thanks.'
Keats cracked a thin smile. 'Enjoy your stay.'
62
Darby's first thought was that she had stepped through a time portal and into the top floor of one of those old historic mansions she'd once seen in Newport, Rhode Island. The space was immense, with Victorian-inspired sofas, chairs and heavy curtains; the only modern flourish was the soft lighting that glowed like candlelight across the cream and beige striped wallpaper. The warm air smelled of lavender — fresh lavender and not some sort of chemical scent, and it was coming from a huge bouquet of fresh-cut lavender sprinkled among white and red roses set up on the table.
She looked around, taking in the immense space and the adjoining kitchen — there was a kitchen in here, an actual kitchen — and she half expected some butler or maid from a Jane Austen novel to come waltzing into the room and tell her the duchess was ready to receive them.
She turned and walked, dragging the rolling suitcase behind her, into a master suite almost as big as her condo. Tall ceilings, and two lamps on cherrywood nightstands bracketing a king-sized bed. Coop stood next to the bed, going through the packages of clothes that had been left on top of the thick white velvet comforter.
Darby parked her suitcase at the foot of the bed and he held up a package of Hanes briefs.
'Tighty-whities. What am I, ten?'
'Let's make a rule,' she said, slipping out of her leather jacket. 'No talking about the case.'
'Fine with me. I could use a break.'
'You want to crash?'
He shook his head, picking up a package holding a blue dress shirt. 'I'm too wired to sleep. All I want is a long, hot shower.'
'You mind if I go first?'
'Not at all. It'll give me time to raid the mini-bar.'
The bathroom, made of black and white marble, had a jacuzzi with windows overlooking the public garden. She could see the old lantern lights glowing around the street and in the distance as she undressed.
Hopping inside the shower, she wished she could stay under the hot water until it ran cold, but she didn't want to waste time. She wanted to spend every available second with Coop. A part of her felt guilty for having these feelings right now, given the day's gruesome events. It seemed wrong, almost abnormal. She was tingling with excitement and anticipation, and Casey was drowning in fear and terror.
Coop was here, and she was alone with him — alone in one of the world's most luxurious and romantic hotels, and she planned on taking full advantage of it. As life had demonstrated to her time and time again, there was no such thing as planning or waiting for the perfect moment, or mood. You had to watch out for it, and when it came along, you had to seize the opportunity or lose it, and there was no way in hell she was about to miss out on this one.
Stepping out of the shower, she debated whether or not to blow dry her hair. Conscious of time, she towel- dried it, combed it back and, still damp, pinned it up in a loose chignon using hair grips. She took her time with the eyeliner, eye shadow and lip gloss.
First she slipped into the special lingerie she had picked out for this moment, along with the dress and shoes. She generally shopped for clothing only out of necessity, and when she did she often chose practical, comfortable items. She never had that girly-girl need to be up on the latest fashions, but she had her own sense of style, and she liked to get all dressed up when the rare occasion demanded it.
Coop almost exclusively dated girly-girls who, after a hard day of shopping, liked to unwind by hitting the clubs. The brighter ones managed to string words together in full sentences but often tired out after a few minutes of conversation. Darby knew she beat every one of them in the brains department and knew, with the right clothing,
